


Untitled #2

by Tomstinkerbell



Category: Loki (Marvel) - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: D/s, Discipline, Dom!Loki, Dominance, F/M, Punishment, Submission, crop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 16:10:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12436548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomstinkerbell/pseuds/Tomstinkerbell





	Untitled #2

[ ](http://s1008.photobucket.com/user/phillyloo/media/Lokicrop_zpshimtessp.jpg.html)

 

“This will do, for a start,” he says, eying the crop critically before folding his arms across his chest as he held it threateningly at the ready.  Then his eyes slide boldly over you.  “You should be naked by now, pet,” he comments casually, as your clothes disappear, leaving you horribly vulnerable in front of him, arms twitching with the effort of trying to resist the urge to protect yourself from his heated gaze.

You know he wouldn’t like that, and you’re already in enough trouble with him that you’re in no hurry to add any more reasons for him to punish you.

Then he rises from the stool, making a very slow trip around you.  You can feel his eyes on you everywhere - as well as the almost gentle touch of the tip of the crop here and there - the back of your neck, making you shiver - a nipple that is already hard and straining towards him - the under curve of a bottom cheek, which makes you start nervously.

He ends up behind you, warning suddenly, “Brace yourself, my darling, this is  _not_  going to be easy to bear.”  You separate your feet quite a bit, leaving parts of yourself much more open to him than you would prefer.  “But remember that I expect you to remain still, regardless.”  Inquisitive fingertips run themselves possessively down the naked line of your spine, raising goose flesh all over your body, and ending with him gently squeezing then patting a full cheek, those long fingers deliberately brushing up against the most sensitive areas you own before he lets go, drawing a startled gasp from your lips that makes him smile.

“Where do your hands belong?” he prompts softly.

You lace your fingers at the back of your neck, which forces your breasts into a prominence that you’d rather it didn’t, making them much too much of a potential target for your comfort.

But you don’t have a choice.

“I’ll begin when you count ‘one’, and I would advise you not to lose track, little girl, no matter how high you end up having to count.”

Mouth dry at that, knowing he’s not going to wait long for you to begin, you croak, “One,” your body taut and straining in anticipation of the first stripe, which you know is going to be atrociously hard.

And it is, the sound - almost a sizzle of the flesh beneath it - horridly harsh and jarring to your ears, but even more so to your backside, the searing agony of your flesh making your feet want to dance restlessly, but you know you must suppress the urge.

Because this is merely the beginning.

He’s not going to let - or  _get_  - you off easily this time.


End file.
